Inseparable
by rachelquinn
Summary: Future-fic. When Quinn and Rachel moved to New York, they were inseparable best friends. One afternoon changed that completely, pushing them worlds apart. Now, five years later, a chance encounter forces them to face their feelings.
1. Prologue: Five Years Ago

A/N: Hi, hello! I'm Drew, the other half of this account. It's been a while since I've written a fanfic, but sometimes there are too much Faberry feelings and poof, out comes this futurefic!

Thank you to Theresa, my multi-talented account partner for the evocative book cover.

disclaimer: 20th Century Fox, Murphy & Co. most definitely own Glee, but the devoted Faberry shippers make this fandom one of a kind.

* * *

**Prologue**

**Five Years Ago**

* * *

"That handsome salesman was SO into you, Q," Rachel teased.

"He was way too tall for me, Rach. Did you see his neck?"

"I did see his neck, and I also saw his muscular body, and those shoulders! He treated you so kindly, and pardon me if I also noticed the way he was touching your back!"

"Oh, you mean his gay touch? His hands were so delicate. Too delicate," Quinn objected, as they left through the doors of the Ralph Lauren.

"He was not gay! And _ha_, you did feel it and you most certainly enjoyed it!"

"Okay, maybe a little," Quinn admitted. "But you would have too. Who wouldn't enjoy a little massage in the middle of a long shopping day? He did have some nice technique."

"Are you suggesting we return for a second round, Quinn?" Rachel stopped on the pavement, her eyes twinkling.

"I got my shopping done," Quinn dismissed, walking on.

"But _Quinn_, maybe–"

"Maybe _you _want one."

Rachel gasped and sped up to Quinn's pace.

"No I do not, my routine stipulates that I eat, exercise and do not disturb my body with unnatural motions such as hand mas– _ahhh_…"

Quinn's hands had crept onto Rachel's shoulders and gently rubbed her shoulders, effectively hushing Rachel's standard recounting of her "everyday routine".

"_Ohhhhhh– _ok, stop, stop Quinn, _ohh…_"

Quinn's fingers were now on Rachel's back, making small, light circles on concentrated parts of her upper back, ignoring Rachel's very vocal protestations.

"_Ahh, Fabraaay–"_

Rachel pulled away, scurrying a few steps ahead, shuddering at the stimulating pleasure running around – _circles – _through her back.

"It sounds like you do want one," Quinn grinned. "I think you _need_ one."

_Circles_.

Rachel didn't respond, electricity still rhythmically traveling through her body. She continued walking, clutching her bag tightly.

"Oh, Rach," Quinn ran to catch up with her, shopping bags following, knocking against her back legs. Rachel fished a pair of black Wayfarers out of her handbag and shoved them on.

"So," Rachel said when Quinn caught up, her voice suddenly high-pitched. "Where shall we go next?"

"Coffee break?" Quinn suggested with a small grin still visible on her face.

"I could use some coffee," Rachel agreed, surreptitiously glancing at Quinn through her shades.

"Me too," Quinn murmured, a little stunned at Rachel's previous reaction, unable to read her behind the Wayfarers.

"So Qua– Quinn," Rachel stumbled as they stopped at an intersection, "where did you learn to uh, perform back massages?"

"I'm not sure," Quinn responded indifferently. "I don't think I ever have before."

"So you are a, um, natural?"

"Maybe. You're a singing natural."

Rachel couldn't help a small smile.

"I _am_ an extremely talented singer," she said quietly.

They crossed the street, the busy New York weekend traffic flowing around them.

"You should come to our show next week," Rachel suggested, now sparking some cheerfulness. "My class is doing a modernized version of _Around the World_ at the _Imperial Theatre_."

Quinn laughed. Rachel looked like a dazzling rock star in her shades.

"When will it be?"

"Friday night, at seven."

Quinn had been invited to a party that night.

"Of course I'll come, Rach. I'd never miss you performing."

"Excellent!" Rachel smiled widely, clapping her hands together. She withdrew three tickets from her bag and handed them to Quinn. "Here are three tickets, please bring some friends this time, Quinn!"

"I like watching you perform, Rach. People I know go to parties on Friday nights."

"Are you not lonely when you sit by yourself?"

"All I care about in those theatres is you."

"Well, I _am_ rather stunning and amazing when I sing," said Rachel offhandedly.

Quinn smiled at Rachel's self-praising. "You are, Rach. You're going to be a star on Broadway one day."

Rachel grinned with confidence at Quinn's words, squeezing her wrist lightly. "You really are my best friend ever, Quinn."

They entered a Starbucks, the line empty and a few tables occupied by other weekend shopping pairs.

"I'll get them," Quinn gestured as she glided to the barista.

Rachel found a small, wooden circular table by a window and sat, watching Quinn, feeling like the luckiest girl to have her as a friend. Any performance jitters and nervousness of the New York stage were vanquished by Quinn's undying support at her shows. Rachel didn't ask Quinn to come every time, knowing the travel and schedule was tough, but every time she asked, she did and Rachel spectacularly came through in the spotlight each time. The warm feeling at the end of her musicals and plays, seeing the audience, seeing Quinn stand up and enthusiastically applaud her was unmatchable. That represented the lifelong dream.

Quinn's fedora spun around and her hazel eyes found Rachel sitting, as the barista set to fulfill their drink orders. Quinn had gotten prettier since they left high school. They never went a month without seeing each other, and each time they met, Rachel was stunned by Quinn's attractive, mature radiance. She couldn't imagine going shopping with anyone else; the monthly experiences with her had brought them so close, without the ridiculous melodrama of high school.

High school, when Quinn was that tough, independent social empress and symbol of blonde perfection. How Rachel had admired that girl. She loved this one even more.

She gazed out the window, the sun beginning to set. She and Quinn had embarked on another legendary Saturday shopping, talking about life and growing up. Post-McKinley High independence had done them both well, living as friends in New York. But Rachel knew she'd never forget how they became friends in the first place _in_ high school. Prom. Nationals. Glee. Those were some of her life's most cherished moments.

"Hey."

Hearing that voice was wonderful; the voice that was distinctly Quinn Fabray.

"Hey," she warmly responded, taking the English tea Quinn offered her.

Quinn sat, across from her, setting her shopping bags on the floor.

"What were you thinking about?"

"Hmm?"

"You had that endearing dreamy-Rachel Berry look."

"Is it really that endearing?"

Quinn laughed. "Yes, it is. You look like you're in some other happy world."

Rachel laughed too.

"I was thinking about us."

Quinn leaned a little closer, tentative. "Us?"

"Yea. Like how we've stayed together since Lima, and we travel to see each other so much even though we attend different schools. And you excelling at Yale, and continually supporting me at my shows."

"I love coming to watch you, Rachel. You know that."

"You're the best friend a girl can ask for. I don't know what I would do without you."

Rachel paused.

"Sometimes I don't want it to ever end, this. You really don't know what– how much you mean to me, Quinn."

The blonde's cheeks turned a touch of pink at the proclamation.

"Rachel," Quinn began, staring at Rachel adoringly, "I… I don't know how to respond."

Rachel was about to speak when Quinn found her words.

"You mean the world to me too."

Rachel smiled affectionately, getting the internal feeling that tears would be reaching her eyes soon.

"Rachel… I'm not sure how to say this… I want to tell you something."

Quinn breathed, suddenly feeling unsteady with the Rachel. The girl she was most comfortable with in the world.

"I'm really, really happy with _us_ too, Rachel. Ever since we left Lima, growing up together here with you has been an amazing experience. I never thought you of all people would be my best friend."

Rachel smiled, her inner instinct of doing so when thinking of Quinn as her best friend still strong.

"And… and I've never felt this before, but when I'm with you, I get these… these feelings. I'm so happy when I'm with you. You, Rachel, we've been through so much, I owe you so much. You're this person, this rock, and you never betray who you are, and you earn every moment in your life. And I used to be this… terrible evil cheerleader that terrorized you. And now, because of you, you changed me, lifted me and picked up the pieces when I became an outcast, and we became friends…"

Rays of sunset orange shone onto Quinn through the window. She looked down at her coffee, twisting the paper cup in a circle on the spot. She eyed Rachel hard, continuing, sensing interruption.

"What I want to say is… Rachel. You're the best thing that ever happened to me in my life, and my heart, it skips whenever I see you. You're so strong, so driven, so talented with your beautiful voice. And these past two years have been the best of my life. I look forward to the next time I see you every day, and sometimes it's unbearable not knowing when that will be, but when you call, I'm really, really happy. And… Jesus, I'm not used to doing this," Quinn muttered, half-laughing, half-choking. "I never want to lose you. I want… I want for us to be… _together_."

Quinn finished slowly, feeling her heart and outpouring romantic desires swirling on the table between them.

"Together?" repeated Rachel, her grip loosening on her paper cup.

Quinn stared at Rachel's idle left hand on the table. Her own hand joined her longing heart on the table and reached for Rachel's, tenderly enclosing it with hers.

"I want to be _with_ you, Rachel. More than I've wanted to be with anyone else."

Quinn gently squeezed Rachel's hand beneath her, and looked intently into those brown eyes, devoting all her feelings into the gaze.

Rachel breathed, feeling constricted, as if she just re-surfaced after nearly drowning.

"Quinn."

The blonde watched her best friend, sensing hesitation. Rachel's head was down, unable to meet Quinn's eyes.

"I am… I... Your words are… you are my best friend."

Her hand rested, unmoving underneath Quinn's.

"And… I love you. God, Quinn, my world is amazing with… with you."

Quinn watched Rachel struggle. She still wouldn't look up at her, seemingly unable to meet the hazel eyes.

"I'm…"

The hand twitched.

"I can– I don't…"

Rachel's warm fingers crept on top Quinn's, slightly interlocking their hands, and ever so slowly stroked Quinn's ring finger, between the nail and knuckle.

Silence overtook them for decades.

"Rach…"

"Q…"

Rachel's eyes met Quinn's. The silence was torturous, worrying Quinn. What did she just do?

"Q… Quinn…"

Rachel's pupils were darting side to side, Quinn could see now. There was uncertainty in them, and words had faltered.

"Rachel?"

The tender stroking stopped. Quinn's eyes directed down to where Rachel's finger had stopped. Their hands drew closer, interlocking further. Quinn was suddenly aware of the pounding of her heart.

She revert her eyes back to Rachel's. The browns were still now, pointed straight at Quinn's hazels. She saw the faint reflection of her own blonde strands of hair in them.

"…"

She heard a barely audible sniff, and suddenly the warm hand was gone from under her, and Rachel was gone from her seat, and gone through the doors of the coffee shop.

Her shopping bags sat abandoned on the floor.

* * *

_have a heart, write a review? :)_


	2. Chapter 1: Rachel Berry

A/N: thank you for the reviews, and welcome to the present day of this fic.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

**Rachel Berry  
**

"We all walk in the dark and each of us must learn to turn on his or her own light." – Earl Nightingale

* * *

6:59 AM.

Rachel Berry's alarm clock shrilly rang, the vibrating bell bouncing off the walls of her dim bedroom. On instinct, she sat up, pushed her star-decorated sheets off of her, and turned her alarm clock upside down.

Rachel's mundane bedroom greeted her as the sound of the alarm faded away in her ears. The square bedroom was tiny and better described as a glorified walk-in closet. The long side of her single bed sat against the west wall, and not two feet separated the other parallel side from the dresser. That was parked against the bed's opposite wall, where a small, sunlight-limiting window resided. The end of her bed touched the north wall that showed two doors along it. The left one led to her living room, and the right, her bathroom.

Some things never change, and Rachel's morning routine has been consistent to the tee for several years. Slipping into her slippers, she slithered through the tiny gap between her bed and the dresser, and marched through the right door into the bathroom, sized a third of her bedroom, barely containing the toilet, sink and shower inside.

As she turned on the taps and splashed cold water over her face, she thought idly about the man she kissed at the bar the evening before, still feeling a semblance of taste from his lips on hers. He had been at her show, and found her sipping a light drink at the nearby bar after it.

Rachel had welcomed the company without much thought; rarely did she seek out guys herself because her busy schedule didn't allow it. It was a lonely life Rachel had been living, but one she deemed necessary to achieve her life goals, goals she would never, ever give up on. An old friend had advised her once that she shouldn't let any man hinder her pursuits.

Her toothbrush touched her mouth and all remains of her evening kissing partner left her lips, unlikely to be felt again. He hadn't gotten past her apartment threshold, a decision guided more by her early wake-up time than her inner desires. She told him to see her again in her next show, the one scheduled tonight. It was something she told many guys, but they never reappeared.

She didn't even remember the man's name.

Finished with her morning routine, complete with her uniform, she glanced at a note pinned to her closed living room door, one that said that her show was to start an hour late today, as her director had informed her. Normally it began at 7 PM, running two hours, and began again at 10 PM in the second run of the evening. Tonight, there was only to be one show. Rachel, honestly, was happy about this. Performing twice a night was grueling.

Opening the door and exiting her apartment without breakfast, with her handbag around her shoulder, she put on her smile for the people of New York. The sun smiled back.

* * *

"The Queen's Oracle" was a respectful, popular middle-to-high-class restaurant, mainly serving for the flocks of New York business people and aspiring artists that could afford extended lunch breaks. Daylighting there as a waitress was never a job Rachel expected to do, but coming out of NYADA without money necessitated taking the waitressing job. Rachel was outgoing and conversed with her patrons, memorizing their usual orders, happy for the generous tips and opportunity to connect. She knew talent agents and other theatre stars roamed at Queen's, and she wanted to make sure she was liked by any dining New Yorker.

"Morning, Rachel!"

Her manager, a middle-aged woman named Frederica squeezed between two other waitresses and greeted her with a tray and a cup of coffee. "How was your show last night?"

"It was fine, thank you." Rachel sipped her coffee, grabbing a pad of blank paper. "The crowds were ever so drunk and rowdy and I believe they were only coming to see me in those revealing costumes. Thank goodness we cannot afford good lighting."

"Don't let it trouble you, dear. You're a very good performer."

"I would never, Freddie. In fact, a very proper man came up to me at the bar afterwards and offered to buy me a drink. A tasteful man offering a tasteful drink."

"Rachel! Did you…?"

Rachel was immediately sorry for bringing it up; she knew Freddie was supportive and wanted for Rachel to be happy in her life.

"No, no." Rachel looked down with a little regret in her sad smile, putting down the cup, feeling the lively conversations of the breakfasting New Yorkers die down with her. "I think he may have been married."

"You know men." Freddie returned a sympathetic smile. "Table 5 needs you."

Freddie's customary greetings were polite every day, even though Rachel's responses started at "great", and descended to "good" and now "fine". Nevertheless, Freddie asked, providing friendship and encouragement.

Life was tough in New York for Rachel. Being an Off-Off-Broadway star meant living in a small apartment that wasn't even nearby her regular performance theatre. It was unspectacular, and nothing like the glamorous spotlight Rachel imagined as a transcendent teenage performer. But over the years, Rachel had learned to practice patience.

She followed a fellow waitress out of the staff door and made her way briskly to Table 5, a table that was located outside the restaurant. Rachel saw three elderly women she didn't recognize, musing about the bright, smiling morning sun.

"Good morning, I am your waitress, my name is Rachel. May I take your order – excuse me – orders?"

The customers of Queen's that day made their way in and out just like any other day.

* * *

6:58 PM.

Rachel's taxi ride to the theatre featured, well, Rachel Berry and a silent driver in a yellow car.

She still loved performing. She loved to sing and dance, and express her truest feelings in beautiful music numbers that would resonate as soft, melodic echoes in her audience's ears, and have those echoes be sung back as praises of Rachel Berry to others in the many corners of New York theatre. Those others who would listen, and come see her show and hear those same sparkling numbers. Critics would then write about her talent and she would be famous: the shiniest star in New York.

Those wishes were a far cry from what she did now on Off-Off-Broadway.

The taxi zoomed past a Broadway theatre, intimidating in its size, but inviting with its glittering lights. The name of a popular show was broadcasted on the text display, and a show was about to start. Rachel watched a crowd of fancifully dressed people trickle inside.

Sometimes she thought she intentionally lived her live in isolation because there was an element of failure present in her life, and the thought of facing someone every day who was more accomplished and moving forward in his or her life would push her further down that insecure, career-less hole.

Ever since her teenage beginnings, she had told everyone she saw, regardless of their listening intentions, where she would be, where she would star, how famous she would be. The endless doubt and cloudy future of today were hardly realizations of those teenage spiels. Rachel knew if anything, she still had a lot of pride. And drive for the performance theatre. Performance theatres with shining lights, perfect acoustics and majestic stages, and seated thousands. One day, she would get that big break.

She did seem to have developed quite a large theatre of introspection in her head.

Rachel paid her driver and stepped on the pavement that led to the theatre entrance.

Standing in front of New York theatres used to fill Rachel with nervous anticipation and optimism. That was a long, long time ago. Rachel looked at the small, bleak Off-Off-Broadway theatre in front of her, with the sky dimmer than usual due to the late start hour. If it were any darker, only the exterior windows reflecting the dim streetlights would tell bystanders that this theatre existed.

That image just never reflected optimism for Rachel. It really didn't even deserve the name "theatre".

Straightening her coat, she strode past the theatre's double doors and found the familiar dimly lit lobby in front of her. But that was all she found. There weren't many people bustling around today. Rachel sighed, almost accustomed to not expecting a turnout for her show anymore.

She made her way through a door labeled "C&C", for the few cast and crew members in her production, and found the producer, Brian, putting equipment in a plastic box.

"Why is our theatre ever so empty? And why is our equipment being packed away in these ugly black boxes?"

Brian whipped around to find the questioning Rachel standing a foot from him.

"We got canceled," he said simply.

"Canceled?"

"Uh, yes, Rachel. I'm sorry."

"Canceled? As in, no longer in production? Who? Who canceled us? I demand to speak to this thoughtless person who canceled us– me!"

"We lost our funding, Rachel," Brian replied tiredly. "The show can't go on without money."

The show can't go on without money.

Rachel tried to speak, but instead, her eyes went wide and she stood on her tiptoes, unable to.

"Rachel – oh, Rachel."

Brian put a pair of headset microphones down and led her to a chair, patting her shoulder gently as she blinked tears away.

"Rachel, this happens with small theatres like us. We get shut down."

"Brian?"

"Yeah?"

"But what– where will I go now?"

* * *

"Puzzles" was a quiet, low-key bar frequented by pleasant guests searching for the esoteric liquor experience and peaceful, romantic piano music. It was directly across a popular bar where beer was the choice drink, and required waiting in a line for entrance to the party. For Rachel, Puzzles was her destination after a strenuous show, where she could relax in its tranquility. By no means was she the alcohol expert, but the civil company appealed to her, as opposed to the sophistication-lacking patrons of the bar across the street. She wasn't 20 anymore.

Rachel entered, tonight feeling directionless, rather than tired. The circular tables were empty as usual, and she noticed a few couples secluded in the corner booths. She glanced at them, before heading toward the stools at the bar.

"What will you be having tonight, Ms Berry?"

"The usual, Roger, thank you very much," Rachel answered with a sigh.

"Don't thank me," Roger smiled. "Your drink is courtesy of the man down to your right."

Rachel disinterestedly followed Roger's pointing finger to an inconspicuous man dressed in an expensive black leather jacket that blended with the dark wall. He smiled, and held up a hand as Rachel motioned to get up, telling her to stay put.

"Hello again," the man opened with a charming smirk.

"Hello." It suddenly occurred to her that this was her kissing partner the evening before. She blushed a little.

"We meet again," he followed, sitting down beside her.

"Umm… my regretful apologies for asking because I vividly remember making out with you but I do not seem to recall your name."

The nameless man smiled again at the familiar drawn out sentences.

"I didn't give it to you."

Realization flooded to Rachel; did she only kiss this man and not even ask his name?

"I'm John," he supplied, extending a hand.

"Rachel," she nodded back, seeing her incomparably small hand disappear in his.

"Just as beautiful as I remember you," he said, bowing.

Rachel blushed again, feeling warmth spread through her cold hand in the handshake. She held on for just one extra second.

"You came back to see me?"

"I was free tonight. And you seem to be as well."

Rachel smiled this time, brushing some hair aside to sip her drink. The last notes of a soft piano piece finished somewhere in the background, and the weight of her lost show lessened.

"So," John started again, confidently leaning closer, "Will I be getting _in_ your apartment tonight?"

"My apartment? Well, my show has been canceled unfortunately, so now I–"

She stopped short in her mini-monologue, suddenly aware of his proposition and lips closing in, forgetting about her unfortunate news earlier. And then Rachel felt the familiar lips once again, and she kissed back with desperation that wasn't existent during their first evening.

Leaning back slightly, she mumbled, "Are you married?"

"How about I show you my place? You'll like it," he whispered.

He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers.

Rachel didn't need any more verbal nor physical convincing. Their abandoned, half-empty drinks stood, watching them leave.

* * *

8:57 AM.

Sunlight poured in from a large walk-out bay window, illuminating every inch of the spacious master bedroom. Rachel awoke with a beam of light in her eye. Blinking, she dodged it and found the source. What appeared to be a mirror was reflecting the sunlight right in her face.

Abundant light wasn't supposed to be the source of Rachel's morning waking.

She blinked again, and realized it wasn't a mirror. It appeared to be the pane of a tall trophy case 30 feet in front of her. Now that definitely didn't exist in her room. She smelled a faint, but fresh aroma of eggs and ham.

"Good morning, Rachel."

She looked up, and found John and his omnipresent smile in a black silk bathrobe, standing in the doorway.

Then she looked down.

Then she darted for the sheets, pulling them up to her neck.

"Hey, relax. I made you breakfast. And maybe after we can– "

"No, no, no! Please leave so I can locate my clothes and dress," she frantically directed him, her frazzled hair swinging from side to side as she tried to find her clothes keeping her left hand grasping the sheet.

"You're so adorable when you're flustered," he grinned childishly, unmoving from his standing spot.

"This is NOT funny," her tone quickly changing from frantic to scolding. "You are intruding in my personal space and I do not find it welcoming, despite your pleasant accommodations."

"Oh, did I intrude in your _personal space_ last–"

A gasp was followed by a cell phone making its way through the air, making a beeline for John's head.

"Whoa, okay, bye!" He caught the speeding phone with a swift hand and swished out of the room, the door following shut in his wind.

Rachel exhaled, falling back onto the unusually soft pillow. Not to mention the king-sized bed that she realized she had been sleeping on, her legs comfortably splayed across the entire mattress. Curiosity overtook her fading irritation, and she sat back up, examining the whole room for the first time.

The trophy case she saw earlier had moved on, reflecting the sunlight to an angle to her slight right. Beside the case was an even taller bookcase, and twice the width of the trophy case. The spine of worn-out titles, unreadable to Rachel at her distance, sat neatly on the five levels of the bookcase.

To Rachel's direct left was a four pane picture window, with the outer two slanted to form a semi-circle. The window, strikingly clean, took up all but the lower three feet of the wall. A long, white storage cupboard sat there, perfectly filling up the space from the floor to the base of the window and following the convex pattern of the arranged panes. Fixed cushions sat on the cupboard, with a nested, pillow area in what appeared to be a lie-down reading space directly below the middle two window panes.

To the right of it was the walk-out bay window, stretching to the ceiling and the culprit of admitting the copious sunshine into the room.

On Rachel's right, the room extended with its light purple walls to what appeared a work area, which itself was twice Rachel's apartment bedroom size. A long glass desk, television and two couches sat there. The entire room hosted lots of doors, all of them closed except for one that appeared to lead to a bathroom.

Looking behind her, she found her clothes, neatly placed on a wooden hanger on a dark purple hook. Stiffening a little seeing that John had touched her clothes – her underwear, she snagged the hanger and got dressed in the bed, feeling dirty in the same clothes. Her bag sat on the floor, which contained her waitressing outfit. At least those would be cleaner, but Rachel dismissed them, not feeling that the outfit would be appropriate in her current surroundings.

She slid off the bed, feeling small in the gigantic master bedroom. She frowned, realizing she was unable to perform her morning routine. Stepping into the bathroom, she saw a slew of toiletries laid out on the sink counter and suddenly felt intrusive. She would not use another person's bathroom. And not one what was bigger than her bedroom. She stepped out and grabbed her bag, fishing for her hair brush. Walking to a stand-up mirror, she ran the through brush her hair, observing herself.

It was the first time she, well, had some in months. Many, many months. And somehow, she had landed herself in this rich mansion that she didn't belong in. Well, she _did _belong, once, you know, she became a Broadway superstar. But that wasn't the present reality, except whenever she spent the night with (apparently) rich, handsome males.

Deeming her hair worthy of public display, she slung her bag over her shoulder, and spun around, inspecting the room again. She glimpsed at the bed, internally debating whether to neatly fold the sheets and put the scattered pillows back to their proper positions. Maybe the pillows, at least.

She left for the door John disappeared through earlier. As she turned the handle, a glint caught her eye.

The trophy case was hinting at her again. She shouldn't be invasive. But John probably wouldn't care, right? He had invited her into his house, after all. Proud as he was, he definitely wouldn't mind Rachel seeing the exhibit of awards for – whatever he won.

She tiptoed on the carpet over to the trophy case, immediately noticing a tall, gold trophy in the center with three levels, building up to a figure at the top that resembled a cheerleader. Rachel peered at the plate.

**2012 National Cheerleading Competition**

**William McKinley High School**

**1st Place**

**Captain: Quinn Fabray**

* * *

_chapter 2 is already written and ready to go soon, review this one first? :)  
_


	3. Chapter 2: Quinn Fabray, JD

_A/N: What's Quinn been up to? This chapter occurs concurrently with chapter 1. Enjoy!_

_disclaimer: most of my New York venue names are fictional, but the fantastic television program_ Girls _is owned by Apatow Productions/HBO __and the _Chrysler Building _is a thousand standing feet of real __New York skyscraper__._

* * *

**Chapter 2**

**Quinn Fabray, J.D.**

"You don't drown by falling in the water; you drown by staying there." – Edwin Louis Cole

* * *

"We, the jury, in the matter of the people of New York versus Noah Puckerman, on the charge of traffic misdemeanor, we find the defendant…"

A tall, well-shaven man, cleanly fit in a navy blue suit and matching tie, inhaled calmly.

"… Not guilty."

The man exhaled deeply, elated, and a stern but youthful blonde, dressed in full black blazer and knee-length skirt, smiled grimly beside him. She turned and received a hug from the man, his large arms wrapping around her back.

"Don't do this again, Puck," she spoke softly, knowing full well there would be an 'again'.

"You're the best. Thank you," he said, patting her back.

The two suits on the opposing state council shook their heads as they packed their briefcases.

"It's a fucking traffic misdemeanor, and we have to go up against the best fucking young hotshot defense lawyer in New York."

"And the sexiest."

The crudely-speaking assistant state's attorney shot his enamored second chair a dirty look, and grabbed his briefcase off the desk, mumbling to himself as he left. The second chair followed him out, stealing a last glance at the blonde's visible legs in the black skirt.

"Lunch? I've got some time to kill before I gotta be on the set," Puck grinned, helping – attempting to help – the blonde neatly stack several paper files into her case.

Quinn Fabray glanced at her watch. "I need to be back in the office."

"Oh, come on, Q. I'll buy, we should celebrate."

"Puck. I take your cases with no compensation and I lose potential billable hours by doing so. You would be repaying me as well as fulfilling your gentlemanly duties by buying me lunch."

"I dunno what you just said, but you know me, the perfect gentleman," Puck cracked, trying to wipe off the stern look that had returned to Quinn's face.

"Fine. One hour," she said firmly, snapping the lock shut on her case.

"That's my girl."

They exited the courtroom, ignoring the stares directed their way.

"Ready?" Puck shot a side glance to Quinn as they approached the exit of the legal building.

"Yup."

The New York sun was at its noon peak when they came out. An onslaught of scurrying reporters swarmed onto them, waving microphones and recording devices under their noses.

"Puck! How were you able to get off on yet another alleged traffic charge?"

"Will you be back on _Girls_ soon?"

"Mrs Fabray, why do you continue to represent Mr Puckerman?"

"How has your showrunner Lena Dunham reacted to your third misdemeanor this year?"

"Mrs Fabray, what does your husband think of you representing Puck?"

Outside security formed a path for Puck and Quinn, as they ignored the questions and made their way to Quinn's car. Her chauffeur powerfully shoved a big bald man with a huge TV camera out of the way and opened the door to the black Rolls Royce.

Puck protectively allowed Quinn into the car first, and the reporters slowed down when the car pulled away with trio safely inside.

"Jean Georges, Ranjeet!"

"Yes sir!" the enthusiastic chauffeur acknowledged.

The privacy partition slid up in front of Quinn and Puck.

"Close call, wasn't that?"

She stared out the window as they traveled the New York road, not answering him immediately.

"Puck, you have to keep yourself out of trouble."

"Q, it wasn't my fault! You proved that in court. And you were awesome, like always."

Once again, she paused, her eyes still transfixed on the sky.

"I can't always be at your side to get you out of these things."

Puck softened, feeling Quinn's wall. "Alright, I'm sorry."

"We're seven years out of high school, Puck," she admonished, facing him now. "And you're a bigshot actor now, the spotlight is on you and you can't be driving recklessly."

"I know," Puck said, hanging his head. He met her look, giving her a sincere smile.

"Hire a driver if you have to."

"Can I have Ranjeet?" he asked hopefully.

"No."

Puck laughed. "I can't afford one anyway."

"Then spend less on drinks with your actor friends. Or stop buying gifts for your one-night stands."

"That does sound like a stupid thing I do, isn't it?"

Quinn gave a small chuckle. Puck never learned, and never grew up.

"Jean Georges!" Ranjeet announced.

"Thanks, Ranjeet. We'll be back in an hour," Quinn said. "It's okay," she added, as Ranjeet motioned to leave his seat to open the passenger door for them.

Quinn followed Puck out of the car, peering for press around them.

"All clear," Puck shouted.

"Quiet down," Quinn shushed, smoothing her skirt.

The actor and the lawyer walked side by side into the handsome restaurant, where they were greeted by the maitre d'.

"Ah, Mrs Fabray, Mr Puckerman. Please come with me, we have a table prepared for you."

The pair walked through two chattering rooms before they were guided to a two-person table by a window. The rest of that room wasn't fully occupied, the quiet, noon aura displacing the voices of the crowded rooms.

"Don't you ever think of settling down?"

"C'mon Q, I'm Noah Puckerman. In my sexual peak."

Quinn scoffed. "You'll need a life partner one day, Puck. I can't help you forever."

"What are those again?"

"A wife, Puck. Someone you can enjoy the rest of your life with. Everyone needs that."

He smirked. Puck enjoyed his single life.

"A life partner, huh?"

She took a drink of ice water, nodding.

"Like you found one?"

Quinn swallowed the water forcefully.

"Yes, like I found one. You can too."

"That rich dude," Puck muttered, clear displeasure in his voice.

"I love John," Quinn said flatly.

"Yeah right."

"I do. I have him, my Yale law degree, a great life in a great house, and a great career. And I'm just 25."

"I've seen him. He's not right for you, Q."

"You don't know that," Quinn shot coldly.

"I went to your wedding, Quinn. You can't fool the old Puckerman eyes."

"Stop."

"Look, I know you're not happy. You haven't been happy since–"

Quinn's cold look turned into an icy death stare, effectively stopping him.

Puck didn't relent, silently returning the stare to convey the rest of the sentence. Quinn was the first to break, looking down at her empty plate when old, old thoughts floated into her mind…

"You don't even go home every night anymore."

"Because I work, on cases like _yours_," she retorted, anger apparent in her voice.

"Whoa there, Fabray." Puck raised his hands in defense upon seeing the death stare return.

Quinn broke again, coughing. The old thoughts swam to the front of her mind. They slowly turned into vivid images… strands of beautiful brunette hair…

"Q?"

The images turned misty, and dissolved. A single tear rolled down her cheek, and dropped onto the plate with a _plop_.

Puck's expression instantly changed to concern. He reached for her shoulder, steadying her.

"Q, I'm– oh, I'm so sorry, Q."

Puck dashed out of his seat to hug her. He couldn't curb the falling teardrops that fell onto his arm, the table, ruining her skirt…

He lifted a napkin to her eyes, messily dabbing at them, furious that he had unlocked the many years of carefully stowed-away feelings.

She clutched the white paper cloth, immediately soaking it.

"You need to let go of her, Q. Let go of her."

She sniffed, not giving any impression she heard him, or tried to hear him.

"I'm sorry, Puck, I have to go…"

And she slipped out of his grasp and ran through the room's exit, leaving Puck standing alone.

* * *

The McBeal, Specter and Gold legal offices sat on the 58th floor of the Chrysler Building. Quinn leaned wistfully, alone, in the corner stainless steel grill of the handsome Art Deco elevator.

Floor 14… 15…

She couldn't shake off how easily she had broken down earlier. That wasn't like The Quinn Fabray, to react so sensitively. She had made a living, in these offices and in the courtroom being fierce and merciless, drawing the admiration of young women everywhere.

The elevator slowed, stopping at floor 22. Three nondescript businessman, eyes glued to their phones, silently stepped in.

Yes, that was who she was. She was a star the moment the firm hired her as a paralegal's assistant during her tenure at Yale Law, and it wasn't even a year after graduation when she bypassed juniors to become a senior associate at age 25. She competently supported the partners as second chair for their high-profile clientele, and took control of her own, a perennial case-closer and relentless cross-examiner.

She stood up straighter, allowing her professional success to dominate her thoughts. She had plenty to be proud of. Profiled in _The National Law Journal_ just last year, Quinn Fabray was known as a daunting rising star in the legal circles. She won the respect of women everywhere, and intimidated men with her unnerving courtroom stride.

Yeah, she was a big deal. Far more than just a skirt.

She stepped out when the digits turned 58, welcoming the usual sight of the spacious, glass-laden office.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Fabray," the front desk secretary greeted her.

Quinn nodded, turning for her office. It was located on the left side of the floor, right next to the corner office owned by Ms McBeal. That office would be Quinn's one day, perhaps soon, whenever McBeal officially announced her retirement. Partnership was imminent for Quinn.

She glanced at the central conference room, seeing Gold and several male associates throwing a tennis ball around. Not feeling social or cheery, she walked into her office and breathed out in the familiar space.

She set her case down, making a mental note to file away all the Puck-related documents later.

On her tidy desk sat mail, a laptop and two case files due for litigation next week. She took the first one, a legal pen and pad, and walked over to sit in a leather chair.

She was about to begin reading when the door opened, and in popped a young, breathless assistant, knocking on the glass door.

"Hi, Quinn! I think I saw the senior associates celebrating in the conference room just now. Are you joining them?"

Quinn thought for a second. "No, I'm fine, Allison. Can I get some coffee?"

Allison nodded with a smile, and whisked out of sight.

Quinn's eyes returned to the case. It was a standard negligence suit. She was certain that it would go to trial. She absentmindedly stared out the window, which spanned the entirety of the back wall. Realizing she wasn't in a working mood, she dropped the case file, just sitting there legs crossed.

A minute passed, and Allison returned carrying a dripping mug.

"Quinn?"

"Come in, Al," she said vacantly.

"Here's your coffee. And your husband is here!" she squeaked, setting the cup on a circular table where a small and elegant, rock tabletop fountain operated.

"Oh." Quinn looked up, and saw John standing behind the glass. "Well let him in."

Allison held the door open for him and ran off.

"Hi," she stood up, pecking his cheek.

"Hey Quinnie. I called earlier," he motioned, shaking his phone.

"I was at lunch."

"That's what I was calling for," he winked.

"Oh. Sorry. I had just left court with Puck."

"Another traffic misdemeanor?"

"Yeah. Sorry I couldn't come home last night, I had to prep," she muttered apologetically.

"That's no problem," he replied without any resentment in his voice. He brought the sitting coffee to her.

"Tired?" he sat with her on an adjacent leather chair.

"I have to prep a few associates on this negligence case," she said, tapping the file.

He nodded sympathetically.

"I was going to see a show tonight."

"Oh," Quinn paused. "Which one?"

"A really small production. You wouldn't be able to get me a ticket."

Quinn nodded, sipping the coffee. The firm offered tickets to New York professional sports games and Broadway musicals to their clients. Leftovers went to senior staff.

"I might have to work through the night again," she sighed.

"No worries," he assured, standing up and kissing her.

"I'll see you tomorrow night. I have a preliminary hearing tomorrow afternoon."

"Tomorrow night," he repeated at the door.

"Yep," she waved, rubbing her eyes.

Slumping back onto the leather chair, she stared at the case file, in no mood to tackle it. Work served as a great distraction sometimes, but sometimes the distraction becomes so overwhelming…

She pulled out her phone, hitting the three on her speed dial.

"Puckerman at your service!"

"Puck. When you said letting go… what… what did you mean?"

* * *

_next week: Quinn and Rachel reunite! please review :)  
_


	4. Chapter 3: What Happened When I Was Gone

_A/N: thank you for reviewing. bear with me, last set-up chapter!**  
**_

* * *

**Chapter 3**

**What Happened When I Was Gone?**

"You can't change the past. But you can let go and start your future." – Quinn Fabray

* * *

John was lifting a sterling white coffee mug when a screeching female voice pierced his silent breakfast.

"You did NOT tell me you were MARRIED TO _QUINN FABRAY_!"

A half-running, half-jumping Rachel Berry was darting down the curling wooden staircase, an outstretched finger pointing directly in front of her, which stood a closet. She spun around, looking for the kitchen in the unfamiliar house.

"Over here," John's sing-song voiced floated.

A furious Rachel Berry spun again and pounced into the dining room, finding a sitting John staring innocently at her.

"_You're married to QUINN FABRAY?_" Rachel repeated.

"I'm sorry if I crossed a moral boundary by sleeping with you…"

"No," Rachel chided, her mind unclouded by that thought. "You are _Quinn Fabray_ are married."

"Yes. She's a lawyer, we met in…"

"_You cannot be married to Quinn Fabray!_"

"Yes I can. I am," he asserted, holding up his hand. There was no wedding ring there, of course.

Rachel stopped, momentarily breathless from her reprimanding.

"Why are you so uh, upset that I'm married?"

"I am _not_ upset that you are married, _John_," she said disapprovingly.

"Then why are you upset?"

Good question. Why was Rachel upset?

"Because… you are married… to Quinn Fabray."

"Is there a problem with me being married to Quinn?"

"Yes!" Rachel blurted. "I mean… no."

John raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you sit down, Rachel." He stood up, walking his coffeemaker. "Coffee?"

"No. Coffee contains an abnormal amount of caffeine which interferes with my—"

John set the filled mug in front of her.

"Hmph." She disregarded the swirling black liquid.

"Eggs? Bacon? Ham?"

"You're married to Quinn Fabray," Rachel said simply.

John sighed, slightly tired of the vocal tirade from the miniature girl.

"This has never happened the morning after with a girl," he mumbled to himself. "I am, Rachel. We got married when we were in Yale Law together. Both top in the class. Are you Quinn's friend?"

Rachel opened her mouth, and hesitated for a second.

"No," she said solidly.

"I thought I had met all of them," John said to himself.

"Did you sleep with all of them, too?" Rachel retorted.

"Well— no," he stumbled, saving himself from uttering _not yet_.

Rachel gave him a stern look, clearly receiving the meaning of his response.

"Rachel, Quinn and I are… it was a mistake. I can tell she's not happy, and I'm…"

"You and Quinn are not happy together?" Rachel questioned, refraining from finishing his sentence with _sleeping with all her friends_.

"It's been an obvious mistake, getting married," John admitted. "But it was Quinn's idea… now, she comes home like three times a week. Always working."

That solved Rachel's internal query of how she slept in Quinn's bed without her being home.

The detail caught her attention.

_She slept in Quinn's bed_.

She re-focused herself, suddenly very aware of how she smelled.

_Quinn's scent_.

She'd recognize it any time.

"Um… so Quinn doesn't come home often?" she asked, without any direction.

"She works and works. She's one of her firm's best lawyers. Senior associate and barely 25."

Rachel didn't know what _senior associate_ meant but she smiled inside. Quinn would totally make an awesome lawyer, in her head.

She pictured a vicious Quinn tearing apart her opposing council in court. The Quinn was a little older and mature, but still retained her youth and was extremely pretty.

Then she realized she hadn't seen Quinn in five years… what did 25 year old Quinn like?

She scanned her surroundings for photo frames, but only vases and small statuettes that might've been wedding gifts decorated the furniture. Abandoned legal pads sat on the tables, littered with scratch pen marks.

"So," Rachel said pleasantly, "while Quinn is conquering the legal community with her delectable charm, what is your job?"

John's face fell.

"I'm a lawyer too. I got laid off on cutbacks from my firm a month ago."

"Are you as _good_ as Quinn?"

John laughed. "No. That girl's a star," he said dreamily.

"A star?" Rachel repeated. _I'm a star_.

"Yeah, she's feared by like everyone. A magazine did a big profile on her, we have a copy somewhere, she didn't want to frame it."

Rachel nodded absentmindedly. So Quinn made it. A top lawyer in New York City. And Rachel hadn't, toiling on Off-Off-Broadway stages. It was the most she had thought of Quinn since that _afternoon_.

That afternoon.

"Will Quinn be returning home today?"

John's eyes narrowed at the question. Rachel sounded quite interested in his wife, for a girl who didn't consider her a friend.

"Sometime tonight, she said yesterday." He paused. "Do you want to see her?"

Rachel froze. Did she?

"I… I'm not sure," she mumbled, conflicted. She peered at her watch. "I need to go to work."

"Tell Quinn…"

Rachel hesitated, standing up. "Never mind. Um. Thank you for last night."

"Oh, thank you," he smiled cheekily.

She approached the white double doors, hesitating again.

_Quinn's house_.

"Bye," she said to him blankly.

She stepped out and descended down the steps, trying not to look back at the magnificent mansion.

* * *

Queen's was its usual busy self today, with the lunch crowd trickling in. A couple of small groups sat in the waiting area, waiting to be served.

In the dining room, an empty water glass slipped through Rachel's fingers and hit the floor, shattering into small pieces.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!"

She ran through the swinging staff door and retrieved a brush and dust pan, and hurried back out to the table.

"I am so sorry, sir, please allow me to clean this up," she shrieked, flustering, to the wordless, patient-looking patron.

It was the second glass Rachel had broke today. She had been a perfect waitress before, swift, adroit and polite. Her confidence sagged, feeling the dishes were weighing heavily in her hands today.

She mumbled to herself as she carried the broken glass to a trash can, and found Frederica suddenly beside her.

"Rachel, are you feeling alright today? You look very distracted."

"Yes. Yes, I am absolutely fine today, thank you."

"You've broken two glasses today and I saw you almost drop someone's lunch today. Are you sure you're alright?"

Rachel dropped into an idle chair.

"No, I'm not," she admitted, expelling a big sigh.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Freddy pulled a chair from an empty table, sitting to Rachel's left.

"My friend," Rachel began, "my _ex-friend_," she repeated forcefully. "I think I…"

Rachel looked up at Freddy and started crying.

"Oh…" Freddy drew her arms around Rachel, letting her cry on her shoulder. "Rachel, maybe you should take the rest of the day off. Your mind looks elsewhere today."

Rachel sniffed in response.

"But it's only noon."

"That's okay, Rachel. We can handle it. I'll call someone."

"Okay," Rachel said miserably.

"Do you want me to call someone for you?"

Rachel stared at Freddy.

"There isn't anyone."

* * *

6:56 PM.

Rachel twisted under her sheets. She had been under them for six hours, unable to fall asleep. Her routine never specified sleeping in the afternoon hours, so her body must have rejected the attempt.

_Quinn_.

Or perhaps she was distracted.

Rachel reached for her bag and pulled out a laminated bus pass from a zippered compartment. It was a little tattered from its use. She remembered using it for the first time seven years ago, and seeing Quinn, blossoming Yale drama student, waiting for her in Connecticut with a smile and a single, white gardenia.

Quinn had lovingly embraced her when Rachel had stepped off the bus. The embrace signified post-high school independence, a solidified friendship, and anticipation for tackling the future – together.

She remembered how excited Quinn was that day, and how excited she was herself. She had felt hope and optimism, for their friendship and careers. Gone were the high school theatrics and only the best moments were retained. The Ivy League Quinn Fabray and singing sensation Rachel Berry were going to take New York.

The gardenia… Rachel had carried it all day with her while Quinn gave her a Yale campus tour.

Rachel smiled at the happy memory, and perched the cherished Metro North pass on her dresser. The setting sun shone on the plastic coat, reflecting glimpses of light onto her ceiling.

Feeling uplifted, she crawled out of bed, in search of her best dress and makeup.

Thirty minutes later, an attractive Rachel Berry emerged from her apartment, hair meticulously brushed and wearing a smooth navy blue top with a belt and matching, folded knee-length skirt. She cheerfully hailed down a taxi cab, rehearsing the address to the driver.

"That the Fabray house?" the driver gruffly asked.

"Oh. Yes, yes it is," she answered, taken aback. New York taxi drivers knew the address of Quinn and John's mansion?

Rachel sat silently, interlocking her fingers in her lap. The night had fallen over New York now. Would Quinn be back? They hadn't seen each other in _five years_, ever since that afternoon when Quinn…

The memory was still vivid for Rachel, it was the last time she saw Quinn's beautiful face. What did she look like now? What was she like now? Maybe she's changed, becoming a lawyer?

It seemed improbable that Quinn was famous enough for her cab driver to know the address… but he did. How much of a celebrity was Quinn? Rachel hadn't accomplished much in her life…

"You a client of hers?" the gruff voice spoke.

"I'm sorry?"

"Quinn Fabray. You a client of hers?"

Oh. "No, just an old friend. An old acquaintance," Rachel corrected.

"Ah. She defended me once. Was gettin' sued in a fender-bender, she took th' case for free and won. Guy was suing me for reckless drivin', thought I was a goner."

Rachel listened, not sure what to say.

"Quinn's a nice person," she said plainly, feeling a little uncomfortable in the declaration. Did she have a right making such statements when the taxi driver ostensibly saw Quinn more recently than Rachel herself?

"You betcha. Terrifyin' in court though, just sat and watched her tear the other side's case apart. Wouldn't wanna be that person."

Rachel was silent, as she absorbed the second recounting of Quinn's skilled litigation abilities. This time from a total stranger.

The taxi pulled up to the mansion. Lights illuminated the house from the garage to the front porch. Maybe Quinn was back? Nervousness overtook her.

"Thank you," Rachel handed the driver some bills.

Stepping up onto the porch, Rachel took a deep breath, as she did before each performance.

What would Quinn say? It was Rachel's fault they were apart. She had never returned any of Quinn's messages or calls after that afternoon. What would she be like? How would she react to – _oh my god_ – what would she say about her and John sleeping together last night?

An instinct to turn back emerged, but Rachel held her feet firm on the welcome mat. She could not turn back. Rachel Berry never quit. But what if she wasn't wanted?

The door suddenly swung open, and John's figure stood in the light.

"Rachel. You're back."

"Is… Is Quinn here?"

"Not yet," he said, shaking his head. "Come in. Guess you're not here for seconds then."

It took a while for Rachel to understand his meaning. She shot him a disapproving look.

"Are you not roaming around philandering at the bars tonight?"

"Worth a shot," he chuckled. "Have a seat. I was just watching some TV."

"May I use the bathroom?"

"Sure thing. Guest bathroom's down the hall," he directed.

"If you are going to proposition me, you should at least offer me the courtesy of your best bathroom, you know," Rachel scolded.

"Well, you'd have to accept first, right?"

Rachel shot him another look.

"Upstairs, you know where," he conceded.

She made her way up the steps, distantly remembering do the same last night with John's lips attached to hers. She entered the master bedroom, finding it dark. She found a light switch and the familiar setting appeared in front of her. The bed was made, but otherwise, it looked the same as she left it.

_Quinn's scent_.

She found her way back to the bathroom, the intrusive feeling upon her again. She stared at the counter, toiletries still lined up, untouched. But they were different to Rachel now. They were _Quinn's hair brush_, and _Quinn's chapstick_.

Rachel stared into the mirror, and the reflection of the spacious bathroom appeared before her. A shower and bath were on opposite corners of it behind her, and there were two sinks on the counter, which stretched the entire room.

She exited the bathroom, forgetting that she had to use it, and examined the bedroom again. Law volumes lined the upper shelves of the long, wooden bookcase. Children's titles sat in the middle.

Gazing over at the window across the room, Rachel smiled at the nested reading area that sat beneath it. She pictured Quinn lying down and reading there. The moonlight was dancing through the window, and imaginary Quinn's shiny blonde locks were reflecting the light as she turned the page…

"Rachel?" whispered a familiar, delicate female voice.

* * *

_thank you for reviewing :)  
_


	5. Chapter 4: Strangers & Lovers

_A/N: just one scene in this one. thank you for reading and your reviews.**  
**_

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**Strangers & Lovers  
**

"It's always been you, Rach." – Ross Gellar, _Friends 2.08_

* * *

"Rachel?"

The voice wasn't ten feet away. But it was a distinct, delicate whisper that Rachel knew. She turned around to see the shocked but _beautiful_ Quinn Fabray standing in the doorway.

"Quinn?"

Quinn just stared, feeling her heart swell at the brunette before her, feeling her breathing shorten. Rachel looked perfect, dressed in navy blue with her glinting hair flowing flawlessly to her shoulders, reflecting the rays of moonlight through the picture window.

Rachel dropped her bag and ran to Quinn, engulfing her with the hardest hug one could get from a five foot two girl. The stunned blonde heard _and_ felt the tears that came with the tight embrace.

"I've missed you," Rachel murmured through her sobs.

"I've missed you too," Quinn spoke after a few seconds of feeling Rachel's small body against her. She softly slipped her arms around Rachel, trying not to shed her own tears.

The two reunited girls stood there, holding on close to each other, only Rachel's sobs permeating the silence.

"I'm so sorry, Quinn."

Rachel's voice was a barely audible whisper. They let go, still focused on each other, Rachel's apologetic eyes gazing into Quinn's searching hazels.

Quinn didn't know what to say as she stared at Rachel, an onslaught of feelings charging within her. Five years ago, Rachel had left her hanging…

"Rachel…"

"No, Quinn, let me talk," Rachel interrupted, dabbing her eyes. "I have this speech," she confessed, giving a small laugh.

Quinn relaxed her body a little, but anxiety and hope still ran haywire in her fatigued mind.

"I– I made the worst decision of my life five years ago," Rachel started.

The ambiguity of the statement startled the fragile hope Quinn was holding onto. Did Rachel mean running out completely? Or not choosing to be with her?

"You were my best friend and you… I was scared. When you told me everything, I was scared because… because I believed I found true love once. And when it failed and broke my heart, you came with me and showed me what I perceived to be an even true– _truer _love."

Quinn's heart jumped.

"And you had been standing by me through everything and didn't know if I could be… be…"

"What… what are you saying, Rachel?"

Rachel's eyes darted, tentative. Quinn's heart beat faster.

"That afternoon, the moment I looked in your eyes, it felt _real_. Like I could trust you forever, _love_ you forever… I was scared, Quinn. And I am so so sorry because you gave me… gave me your heart and I couldn't… couldn't…"

Quinn took Rachel's hand gently, guiding her sideways to the bed. They both sat, facing each other on the edge. Quinn rested Rachel's hand between them on the bed, stroking it.

"I was scared, Quinn. I didn't know what to do," Rachel finished, hanging her head.

Quinn was silent. The nerves of anxiety and hope calmly rested in her head now, urging her to say something.

"And now you are Quinn Fabray, rich, married, successful lawyer," Rachel added, a little hopelessly.

"Rachel, I was– I'm never anything without you."

Rachel perked up, finding Quinn's yearning expression.

"But you– you made it. Five years. In New York."

Quinn laughed, shaking her head.

"That is … nothing," she said, brushing the compliment aside. "I threw myself into work after… after. After you. After you left, I– I was never happy," she confessed, feeling her walls come down. "I graduated early and then went into law school because I didn't know what to do."

Quinn just continued staring at Rachel faithfully.

"I never stopped loving you."

Her hand squeezed Rachel's. Unforgotten memories and long nights of infinite wonder flashed in Quinn's vision.

"Not for a single moment during these five years."

Silence permeated the room as the words floated softly between them. Hope slowly rose through the air, and then conflict appeared in Rachel's eyes.

"But you're married."

Quinn half-snorted. "Biggest mistake of my life, that was."

"You don't love him?"

Rachel stared back, her heart willing– wanting to be taken. Quinn took a graceful breath, earnestly watching her.

"Not even a fraction of how much I – _still_ – love you."

And they sat there, gazing at each other as darkness befell the room.

"Rachel?"

"Hm?"

Quinn looked at Rachel, feeling the aura of the same girl she knew five years ago sit before her. At the same time, she didn't know this twenty-five year old Rachel that had showed up in her room tonight.

"Do you love me?"

She pleadingly looked at Rachel, holding her hand with both of her own.

_There's nothing stopping us_.

"Quinn."

"Rachel?" she whispered back.

Rachel's eyes shot up determinedly to Quinn.

"I – I slept with him."

Quinn raised her eyebrows, her sitting form unmoving. "You slept with him?"

"John." Her voice was just above a whisper.

"My– husband John?" Quinn's voice was a whisper.

Rachel stared back, her head afraid to nod. Instead, her pupils gradually rose up and down for her.

Quinn absorbed the information, turning away from Rachel. Her hands sat in her lap, a reaction unapparent.

"I should go," Rachel muttered quietly.

She rose from the bed, glancing at the silent Quinn.

"I'm sor–" but Quinn was frozen, her eyes not following Rachel to the door. "I…"

Rachel disappeared through the door without finishing the word.

Above Quinn's bed, an analog clock with gold-colored hands posted pointed at the two and six. She turned back around and collapsed in her bed, tears slipping from her eyes onto the sheets.

She cried, thinking about how perfect her life was, but how it wasn't.

She cried, bleakly imagining a grey life, stuck in a loveless marriage.

She cried, fathoming how she might never be with her true love.

She cried, and caught a whiff of strawberry scent residing on her sheets.

_Rachel_.

She pressed herself harder against the sheets, trying to drown herself in the fading fragrance. Distant memories of happiness swam in her mind, and the nostalgia of the halls of McKinley High floated back to her.

Then she thought about how her unloving husband got to be with Rachel _first_ and she cried again.

The last time she had cried this hard was five years ago.

"Quinn?"

The inquiring male voice sounded peaceful and worried. She continued to sob into the sheets, pretending not to hear him.

"Quinn, what happened?"

The sobbing gradually subsided as her hands slowly clutched the sheets tightly. She got up and looked at him piercingly.

"You happened, John," she shot.

He stepped back at the deathly, icy tone that made him prefer to be shouted at.

"I can't believe you. And don't even pretend."

His mind quickly connected the dots; Rachel was angry after they slept together when she found out he was married to Quinn, now Quinn was crying after seeing Rachel…

"Were you two ex-lovers? I swear I didn't know…"

"Oh my god, you are pathetic. I can't believe I might've liked you at some point."

"Might have?"

Quinn almost sneered.

"You're right. I never liked you. I just used you to stop thinking about _her_."

She didn't feel any remorse from crushing him with that verbal blow. It made her feel _good_.

"Rachel? So you _are_ ex-lovers…"

"Yes, _Rachel_! And of course you had to sleep with her, like you slept with my roommate in law school. You just can't keep your hands off my friends, can't you?"

John shifted his feet uncomfortably.

"You forgave me for that."

"And then I fucking married you."

_God, what is my life_.

John was silent, feeling the air of finality.

Quinn grabbed her purse and strode right past him, out the bedroom door and down the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

Quinn wiped her eyes clear of tears.

"After her."


End file.
